


Csárdás

by elstaplador



Category: Die Csárdásfürstin | The Gypsy Princess
Genre: Csárdas, Dancing, F/M, Fluff, waltz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2012-10-03
Packaged: 2017-11-15 13:39:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elstaplador/pseuds/elstaplador
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts slowly. But it speeds up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Csárdás

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Valancy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valancy/gifts).



It starts slowly, and it feels as if it takes much longer than it really does. An excruciating scene where she is about to be someone's fiancée and he is pretending to be someone's husband, and it gets to the point where if it gets dragged out any longer one of them will scream...

 

But it speeds up.

 

In Boni's experience, waltz-time has never been as commercial as two-four or four-four. The short skirts, the high-kicks in the chorus, the csárdás for the leading lady; this is the rhythm that his heart beats to.

He waltzes very well, and if you press him he will admit that it is pleasant to hold a partner close and whirl around the room one-two-three one-two-three - but what can you say? It hasn't the same excitement as the slow start, the fresh finish, of the csárdás. A waltz is so conventional, somehow.

And a waltz with the Countess Anastasia is merely a diversion from the increasingly awkward conversation between the prince and his – Boni's – wife (or, at least, his wife for the evening - and once more he wonders how he could have been such a fool as to let Sylva persuade him to go along with this, anyway; prima donnas are notoriously demanding, but this is simply ridiculous) - but half way through the Countess Anastasia becomes Stasi, and the sparkle in her eyes and the laughter on her lips almost convince him that the waltz is a dance worth dancing.

Boni falls in love in three-four time, though he would never admit that.

 

Stasi falls in love laughing and with her eyes wide open, and that's the best way to do it. Not for her the sighing and moping that Edwin goes through with his Sylva; not for her the heartache and suspicion.

She would have married Edwin, and she would have made him happy. She would have made herself happy, too, but it would have been an uphill struggle. She sees this with the clear-sighted love that she has always had for her cousin. In time he would have forgotten Sylva – or, rather, forgotten the intensity, the pain, of his love for her – and they would have settled down comfortably, affectionately, built their nest and done their duty.

But oh! the laughter and the kisses have gone to Stasi's head, like the bubbles in champagne, and she is in love – deliriously, impossibly in love – with Edwin's disreputable impresario friend. Oh, she knows all about him – everything that Edwin has seen fit to let her know, at any rate. She has never been to the Orpheum, of course; it wouldn't be seemly at all (though she intends to visit as soon as she's married) but she has heard all about the ladies of the chorus. Or as much as Edwin chooses to tell her, with a little that she has worked out for herself.

And does it matter? She is sure that it ought to; she ought to be consumed with jealousy. But it doesn't, and she isn't. Somehow she knows, without having to be told, that this is different for him, and that it is different for him not because they were chorus girls and she is a countess, not because they have been to bed with him and she hasn't, but because now, today, for the first time in his life, he is in love, and he doesn't care who she is and nor does she.

 

Boni has always loved the theatre. It is half his business, half his hobby, and wholly his obsession. This being so, he is used to people who are not what they seem. Sylva, who is pretending to be his countess, not a singer, and Edwin, who is pretending not to be engaged to Stasi. This is why he enjoys the company of the ladies of the chorus. At the very worst, he knows where he is with them. And this is why he is falling in love with Stasi, who is not pretending to be anyone. She is Stasi, pure and simple, and this is wholly unexpected and refreshing, and for these few minutes he lets the plotting and the subterfuge evaporate from his mind.

After all, this is not such a bad tune, and the orchestra are competent, and he has the loveliest dance partner he has ever known.

 

It has taken her utterly by surprise. She never expected to fall in love at her own engagement party, and she certainly never thought that she would fall in love with her fiancé's friend. She has hardly thought about men in the years since the agreement was reached between her parents and Edwin's. There never seemed to be any use in it. Why make herself unhappy, when she knew what the future held for her, and was, by and large, looking forward to it?

But now – now there is Boni. Everything that she ever told herself about Edwin, her dreams of building themselves a swallow's nest - it is suddenly all so much nonsense – an insubstantial dream world, nothing at all compared to this reality that she is only just stepping into, dancing into, in triple-time.

There are certain obstacles still to be overcome, of course. Her engagement, for one, Boni's marriage, for another – but here, held close in his arms, they seem trifling considerations, melting to nothing when he tells her that they are of no importance, that they will be gone by tomorrow. It seems a chance worth taking.

He dances beautifully, and he makes her laugh. This is all she knows at first hand. It seems entirely adequate. What more would she need to know?

 

'It sounds hopelessly sentimental,' he says, 'but I would almost swear that I can hear the angels singing.'

She laughs, and tucks her hand under his arm. 'Suddenly they've learned how to sing in three-four time.'

'Well, that's love for you!' And he leads her out of the ballroom to face Edwin and Sylva, and he's too happy even to curse them for their melodramatics. Stranger still: now he sees the appeal of waltz time. Not that you would get him to admit that. Stasi might manage it, though.


End file.
